Life and Love
by Toffke
Summary: Sin on ice, he reminds himself, and tries to control his breathing. Victor watches his reflection as he glides across the ice, feet moving in a flurry as if to catch the glint of his blades and the staccatos of the song. [Young Victor and the life of a competitive ice skater. Kinda introspective if you like that, also a little sad] [Part 1 of series retelling YOI from Victor's POV]


[A/N: I was trying to write a youngish Victor since it says he ignored life and love early in his career. Not sure if Victor is realistic TBH but it seemed like he was a pensive guy in his POV ep. Anyways, I feel this Victor T.T stay strong Victor u can do it and then u can do Katsudon later :^}]

Huff. Huff.

Sin on ice, he reminds himself, and tries to control his breathing. Victor watches his reflection critically in the wall-length mirrors installed around the rink as he glides across the ice, feet moving in a flurry as if to catch the glint of his blades and the staccatos of the song. Stretch like a cat, he thinks as he opens his arms, languid and confident, like a lazy, content cat. But not just a harmless housecat, a silvery panther, dangerous, slow, unfurl your arms like a smirk; roll your shoulders as if in hunt. The audience loves that.

He checks himself again. Perfect.

"Vitya! If you continue to spend half your life watching the little details in the mirror like a narcissist, I'll die before I can critique your quad, you foolish student!"

Victor grimaces a bit and misses a beat, but he smiles and retorts with a little laugh in his cheerful, stupid-sounding way, "Yakov, my dear teacher, sometimes I think your old eyes are so bad that you being dead won't make much of a difference!"

Ouch. He regrets it a bit after he hears the words come out harsher than intended, but Yakov knows his quirks and hopefully has been around him long enough to have developed thick enough skin. He sneaks a glance at the other skaters, and silently mutters a prayer of thanks that so few came to practice today. It's an ugly side of him, he knows, and the quickest, most painful method to disillusion a naïve fan. Nevertheless, he shakes the thought away, dutifully impresses into his mind the sequence in muscle memory, and moves to refine the next couple measures. Time is of the essence, after all, and today is ironically the day he should be reminded of that most.

It's his birthday. Another year has gone by. Another year he's older, a year less until he becomes useless and crippled, when his strength betrays him, his jumps fail, and with it, his soul, probably. Angered, he pushes off the ice with too much force and almost slips. Rookie mistake, no good, he thinks, to be controlled by his emotions. Be like the ice: cold, unyielding, and unforgiving at the core. Be like the frost: weightless, effervescent, captivating, and a mirage at the surface. That is his mantra.

"Watch it, Vitya! Start again."

Victor smiles and takes to the starting position. He hates today the most out of all the days of the year because he can never focus well on his birthday. He can barely hear the music, let alone _feel_ the music, and he feels too exhausted to think. Why? He is afraid of getting older; he wants to be young forever, to skate forever, for it is his only love and joy. No, that last part is actually a lie. It is his most _important_ love and joy. He hungers for the gold because he wants to show the world a dream it could have never imagined, one so wonderful, so mesmerizing, unforgettable…because the world thinks he is just a man, a skater, nothing, but he can bring the world to its knees. He will, and the thought of it excites him and stirs passion aflame in his heart, lights fireworks in his veins. Everything else—love, life, family, friends—pales in comparison!

Yet he is lonely because of his choices. Every year he grows older, he cannot help but wonder, what will I do after everything comes to an end? How can I find anything or anyone that I love as much as the ice? The ice gives me purpose, which keeps loneliness at bay, but what _despair_ will I feel, how _lost_ I'll be, _what_ will I do, _how_ can I not panic, no. _No._

Stop.

Focus.

In his mind, he follows the curve of the figure eight his blade etches on the ice, comforting in the familiarity of its sound. Clean. Pure. He opens his eyes to peer at the tracings. Perfect, beautiful loops.

He exhales.

"What are you doing, Vitya? Why did you stop? That was good, just then."

"Nothing, I just got a little confused," he calls over his shoulder, "I'm starting over now." He hears a grunt and something like, "better not be losing it with all the pressure," and he smiles, genuine this time. Though it belies his looks, Yakov is a worrywart.

Yakov is a friend.

Victor glides just off center of the rink and raises his arms in anticipation of the music.

It starts, and he takes off.

Yes, Yakov is a friend. Yakov is more trustworthy than most, and he hasn't disappointed Victor in the way others have. Truth be told, he's also somewhat disappointed with himself, but he's found setting high standards for himself interesting because he always discovers hidden strength on his own, within himself, and that at least never gets old.

He crouches for a combination spin.

However, Victor is used to being disappointed by his fans, who proclaim they like him yet are only interested in an image that he can never seem to fulfill except in short, coy winks and a short handshake or a short 'hello, darling _!_ ' He loves them anyways, but he is tired. He is used to being disappointed by friends and family, who marvel at how he lives and works like he's seen his own grave because they don't seem to understand him. They don't understand that he feels death's insistent blade on his neck. He loves them regardless, but he's lonely. He's used to holding competitors at arm's length, because, well, one, they're competitors and two, him being the man to beat, the distance exists, whether or not he wants it. He's set low standards for his relationship with others. Eventually, their interactions have begun to fade in and out like mist, and "oh, I've forgotten?" found its way to the tip of his tongue.

The jump is nearing, his mind supplies. He pitches forward with long, strong strokes.

But he can't help feeling lonely. He got a dog, and Makkachin helps, but he's still cutting off the bits of his heart that seek others. It numbs him, which helps him focus. It was a necessity to become like ice and frost because he lives on ice and frost, but he's not sure he can live for long once he leaves.

He builds up momentum, angles his body, and waits for the moment.

So he's afraid. Something, related to the numbness, is eating at his energy. Worse, the fatigue is entering his skating. He needs something that can hold his interest to drop into his life fast, because he knows he isn't afraid to press the blade down on his neck himself if life becomes dull.

He jumps.

It needs to come quickly. It needs to exist.

He lands the quad, but it's messy, and he's out of breath. It needs work. It needs work, it needs work. He finishes the program with another series of spins, and prepares to start anew.

Yakov beckons him over from the edge of the rink. He has a bottle of water, but Victor is not thirsty. Victor skates over, confused.

"Take the day off," Yakov intercedes before Victor can say a word. "On your birthday there's more of you present on the ice when you skate, but you always seem agitated. Also, you're temperament could use a change. Anyways, take the rest of the day off, go and do what you youngsters do."

At first Victor is shocked, and then he laughs, full-bodied.

"The audience has not approved, my friend. One day the audience will tell me to take my day off, but not anytime in the near future, I should hope."

[A/N: well the ending is at an awkward place and I might go back and fix it. Or you can be my beta and fix it for me cough help me fix it! Please leave review/comment/kudos/appreciation/money/something to show that I exist among all these words ahhhh is this reality. O yeah this might be a part of a series like a YOI rewrite told from depressing!Victor's view maybe lol if there is time and my interest]


End file.
